


Lemonade

by jaackwolf



Category: Beyoncé Knowles (Musician), Jay-Z (Musician), Original Work
Genre: Based on a Beyoncé Knowles Song, Betrayal, Beyonce - Freeform, Beyoncé References, Beyoncé and Jay-Z, F/M, Family Issues, Inspired by Beyoncé, Inspired by Beyoncé Knowles, Inspired by Lemonade, Inspired by Music, Jay-Z - Freeform, Song: 6 Inch (Beyoncé), Song: All Night (Beyoncé), Song: Daddy Lessons (Beyoncé), Song: Don't Hurt Yourself (Beyoncé), Song: Forward (Beyoncé), Song: Freedom (Beyoncé), Song: Hold Up (Beyoncé), Song: Love Drought (Beyoncé), Song: Pray You Catch Me (Beyoncé), Song: Sandcastles (Beyoncé), Song: Sorry (Beyoncé), marriage issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaackwolf/pseuds/jaackwolf
Summary: 13 chapters telling a story inspired by Beyoncé's sixth studio album, "Lemonade", released in 2016. In this original story, Beatrice and Jason Carter are a married black couple living an apparently happy life. However, Beatrice changes her vision of what a good life is when she finds out secrets her husband has been keeping from her.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelotuseaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotuseaters/gifts).



> Hi, there. Hope you like it. Lemonade is my favorite Beyoncé album, and I felt that many stories inspired by the songs that are available on Internet do something like a "whitewashing" on the subjects, and this time, I'm writing about a black couple living the same story on the album. Of course, I'm putting personal touches in here, but the main arc is clearly inspired by Lemonade's lyrics.  
> <3

**October 19, 2012 ◀**

 

Looking at Jason has just gained a whole new meaning. A few minutes ago, we swore eternal love to one another, we united in marriage, we got married. I'm sure little Ivy in my belly is happy too, just like me. Because looking at Jason Carter, and looking at my reflection in one of several mirrors in the room, and looking at the baby growing in me - this sequence makes me the happiest woman in the world now.

"Beatrice, we are being called by the ceremonialist. Time to cut the cake”, my husband calls me, awakening me from my thoughts.

"Time passes so quickly", I say, following him toward the table with the wedding cake and the dinner we will serve soon after.

"Soon, then, time will pass slowly. I can ask the skies to leave the time slower if you want. Then every moment of ours will last longer, and we will not have to regret it when it's over.”

"Um, I'm not sure you can do this, Jason.”

"It's going to be alright, Bee", he calls me by the nickname he's given me since our second date.

The nickname I hated at first. _Why "Bee"? Could not he simply call me by my name?_ I just got used to being called that way by Jason after we got engaged. That was when I realized that this would soon become one of his characteristics that I would have to get used to.

"Honey", I hear my mother's voice call me, as soon as Jason and I get close to where the other guests are. “I could not find you anywhere.. I was worried.”

"I was just reflecting, thinking about some things", I smile at her heartily. "It's all so surreal, mom. I even think it can all be a dream.”

"Come on, I had the same feeling when I married your father. For the first time. The second time, I was already content with the comings and goings.”

"Well, I just hope I have to marry your daughter once", Jason says, leading me to the place where we'll finally cut the cake, “and I’ll never let her go. It's a shame your husband did not come to the wedding, Mrs. Watson.”

"Yes, why did not my father come?" I ask my mother, who looks away from my face so she does not have to face me as she thinks of an answer.

She always does this when she does not want to hurt my feelings. Think of an answer that will not hurt me. Ironically, it was in her lies that I hurt myself the most.

"He did not want to tell me", Alice finally says, "but he wished the best for you two."

"Always cordial", Jason says, "so, my dear, shall we?"

“Yes, yes”, I agree.

Giving the joy of our guests by cutting the cake into a few pieces (and letting the ceremonialist take care of the rest) is exactly the plan my husband and I have thought since we began to set the details for tonight. Jason always understood my sense of humor like no one else, and the marriage turned out to be the perfect time for us to tune into each other's state of mind. We did not even rehearse a first dance. We decided to improvise everything. We've always been like this. I've heard stories from the Carter family where Jason is always described as "the most playful guy in California," while my mom certainly told him details about how many times I've faced boys twice as tall as I am in Texas.

We wait for all the guests to leave the ballroom to finally do what we most planned to do: lie on the floor in the center of the building, put pieces of cake in each other's mouth and laugh at how certain people were dressed, or how their aunt from Alabama was able to leave my whole family ashamed with her bad, really bad jokes. Laugh at others, laugh at life, laugh at ourselves - another characteristic of Jason that I'm glad to have for myself from now on.

"Do you remember when we first met, Jason?" I ask, tilting my face to look into his dark eyes.

“It was a rainy September day. It did not even seem like it was late summer”, he starts talking about the moment, even knowing that I've already memorized every sentence of the version he tells me every time. “You were beautiful, as you’ve always been, anyway. You were on the outside of the building you were working and a stupid car driven by a dumb driver drove right over a pool of water, which left you all wet. Literally.”

“You dirty boy.”

“You swear? Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Idiot.”

“May I continue?” He asks, laughing. I agree with a nod. "So you were there, very, very angry with the guy, but he did not even stop to help you. I was across the street and the only thing I could do for you was split my umbrella. It was a moment worthy of a Rihanna soundtrack.

"Can I stay under your umbrella today?"

"You can stay under my umbrella forever, my dear. I allow it.”

There are many things about Jason Carter that I love. But the best thing about him is that I'm his wife now.

I am... Beatrice Watson-Carter.


	2. Pray You Catch Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can taste the disonesty, it's all over your breath.

**November 10, 2018** ◀ ️

 

Lunches in family have started to be a problem since Ivy turned five years old. With her running everywhere, each relative ends up taking on the responsibility of looking where she's going, while at the same time wanting to take advantage of the event in her own way - Jason, in particular, can only look at the faces of the Carter family under the influence of alcohol, or something stronger. The problem is: when Jason Carter gets drunk or kind of high, he goes through various stages of behavior. The most enduring of them is when he starts yelling at everyone and complaining about, literally, anything he remembers to exist in his life.

I'm usually one of Jason's complaint topics.

Not that I like it - no woman likes it. But after six years of marriage, a daughter and a stable life, it is difficult to complain about anything. I stand for myself when it seems to be a reasonable idea to argue against my husband, but he always wins in the end, because he knows Ivy hates screams. She is silent. Maybe because I've spent half my pregnancy quieter than usual, just waiting for my daughter's birth. Which is a good thing, since it's Ivy's craze of silence that avoids bigger fights inside our house.

I always ask Jason to try to be more cordial to me and to people in meetings like this by using my work as an alibi. He is well aware that when he married me he also vowed to marry my daily running as a music producer - the only black woman and producer on Atlantic Records. Also the only female, black and Atlantic Records producer to be named the Grammys and even an Oscar, which certainly should help keep my reputation as a woman untouchable within society. Jason Carter always breaks the boundaries of what I build, destroying me from the inside whenever possible.

Today, however, things are different. Ivy is quiet, fascinated with toy blocks that my mother brought as a birthday present - six months late. Our relatives are behaving the same way they behave since I got the idea of having lunch together every year, using the drink so they can deal with the politics, economics, and the neighbors' lives.

"Darling," I call my husband when he's stirring the barbeque. “You haven’t drank today yet. Did something happen?”

"No, it's okay, Bee." Jason kisses my cheek, paying attention to the roast beef soon afterwards. "I just wanted to take it easy today. I think we fought too much this week, did not we?”

“You're right. It was too much for me, and for Ivy too.”

"I want to be sober”, his words leave me in a state of surprise, “for the two of you. I don’t wanna be like my father, you know.”

"Babe, this is wonderful", I give a side hug to him, who tilts his head toward mine. "I'm happy for you. I'm here if you'd like to talk about it.”

“Thank you darling. I love you.”

"I love you too, Jason.”

“Beatrice!”, I hear my mother calling my name in the house. “Beatrice!”

"I'm here, mom", I yell back, kissing Jason and then heading into the living room, "you scream too loud. Neighbors may find it strange.”

"They must be too busy soaking up the smoke from the barbeque, don’t worry about it”, her comment makes me laugh. “Is everything okay?" 

"Of course I’m okay", I give her a hug. “Better than I thought I'd be today.”

"I know how the last family reunions have been a little-" 

"Complicated," I say. "But it's going to be alright now. You know what I just heard from Jason?”

“What?”

“He said he wants to be sober. For me and Ivy!" I reply, displaying a silly grin on my face. “Do you believe it?"

"Darling, that's so good”, her look doesn’t seem to have the same intensity as mine. “I'm happy for both of you.”

"Mother…”

"What?"

"Are you hiding anything from me?" Your gaze does not fool me, not really.

“I? Imagine, my dear. No. "

"Mother..."

"You're going to say "mother" until I say something, will not you?”

“Exactly.”

My mother sits on the three-seater sofa, pulling me by the hands, so I sit next to her. She only does this to me in two situations: when someone in the family dies, or when she wants to pass me some advice that my father certainly screamed at his ranch.

And, well, no one died here. So I can only believe in the other option.

"I was at the ranch with your dad, preparing dinner, you know”, she starts talking. I watch Ivy fit three small plastic blocks together to form the base of a building. "And whenever we have no other things to talk about, he insists on saying shit of your husband. Your father, my dear, he strongly believes that Jason is still going to cheat you in a very cruel way. And he said the pain will be worse if he starts doing good things for you and Ivy, suddenly. If he wakes up someday and, like, if he says he’s going out with the two of you to shop, or traveling to another country with the two of you, or anything like that... he told me that it is in these sudden attitudes that you need to pay more attention. Be more careful. Jason may be doing this because of guilt. He may be hiding something from you, and so he may want to make up for the lie in some way that does not hurt you, or the daughter you have.”

I totally lose focus of what I was seeing. My thoughts can only make a huge effort to tell me that  _ no, Jason is not lying to me. About nothing. Jason would never do that _ \- he promised me, on the wedding vows, that he would honor and respect me.

"Beatrice, I just want you to know I didn’t really want to be telling you this, but these things your father told me, well, it made me very uncomfortable, and I knew I would have to tell you sooner or later. If you don’t believe what he's telling you, then... follow your intuition. What is your intuition telling you now?”

After listening to everything my mother told me, my mind now can’t stop thinking of anything else. I look at Jason playing with Ivy and I think:  _ he's lying _ ,  _ Bee, he's lying. _ I feel his hands touching my arms, I feel his lips giving me kisses on my neck, and I think:  _ he's hiding something, Bee, he's hiding something. _ I look at Jason talking to his uncles and I think:  _ he'll fool you, Bee, he'll fool you.  _

I've never been very intuitive. I always believed this was bullshit invented by my father just so I would not do the wrong thing. My dad once said, "Honey, always trust your instincts. They will guide you to where you need to go to learn to live." But he always said the same thing when I asked for money to go out with my friends, or to go out on a date with some Houston guy, or even go to the movies. So I always taught myself to discredit instincts, intuitions. 

Unfortunately for me, intuition continued to tinker with my mind in the years that have passed. And now I'm standing here, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, preparing to sleep in the same bed as Jason Carter. Sleeping next to Jason Carter, a potential liar.

Should I believe what I'm telling myself?

"Bee?" I hear my husband call me. "Will you come to sleep?"

"Just a minute, Jason," I reply quickly. "Just a minute."

I brush my teeth, wipe my face with cotton, wear my robe, and head for the bed. I lie down with my back to Jason. It’s the only way I know that I will sleep in peace - not looking at the face of the man who may be hiding secrets from me.

It might just be a thing in my head, right? That may just be it.

But it may not be just me and my imagination. It can be real.

And there's only one way to know the truth.

 

**November 11, 2018 ◀ ️**

 

I decide to wait for Jason to sleep - he always has a heavy sleep - but in the middle of the story, I end up napping as well. I wake up only two hours later. I look at the clock, it's only an hour and forty minutes into the night. Time does not seem to be inconvenient for Jason, because when I turn...

He’s not here anymore. He’s not sleeping with me. His side of the bed? Empty.

I sit down quickly, and I end up remembering my intuitive thoughts hammering my head all day. "You knew this was going to happen, Beatrice," I tell myself, "you knew he was going to do it. You could have avoided it. "

But a part of me tells me it may not be too much. Jason may be downstairs, eating something in the kitchen. He's had this habit since he and I got married. It won’t be shocking at all  if I go down the stairs and find my husband there, sitting on the counter, dipping strawberries into condensed milk and then eating each one of them. 

Or chewing a gum.

No, not chewing.

Popping.

So I decide to believe that part of me that has hopes that he’s definitely not betraying my confidence.

Before going downstairs, I pass by my daughter's room. Ivy is sleeping  _ like an angel _ , that’s what Jason would say now. The toys are neatly arranged on one side of the room, something she always does before bed. I smile to myself, and down the stairs to the ground floor of the house. 

No sign of Jason Carter. Not in the living room, in the mezzanine, or in the kitchen, eating strawberries with condensed milk. Or popping a gum. No, he's not there, as I thought he would be. I run to the garage, and to my surprise, his car is still parked there, next to mine. I try to think of no suspicious places where he might be, but neither of these places would open for Jason near two o'clock in the morning. 

Am I right for the first time in my intuition?

 

  * ••



 

When I wake up - for the second time in this day - Jason is already sleeping beside me on the bed. I stare at his serene face, his breathing seemingly quiet, his body resting as if there was no concern to wake the man I have loved in the last few years. I think of all the reasons he might have to hide a secret from me.  _ Was I unfair to him at some point? Did I lie to him? Did I give him any reason to have this need to hide any of me? I did something? Or is it just the nature of man? _

“What are you doing, my love?” I ask, in a low voice, talking more to myself than to Jason himself.

“Bee?”

“Hi, Jason. Good morning” I say, opening the biggest smile I can force on my face at the moment. “Did you sleep well?”

"Like an angel," Jason replies, sitting up in bed right away, "and you?"

"The same way," I shrug, and decide to get out of bed before he tries to hug me, give me ten kisses on my face or something.

I know I'll find it strange if he comes full of love to give me. I feel that thought invading every part of my being. That's why I practically run into the bathroom, locking the door and staring at my own reflection in the mirror to think about what the hell Jason might be hiding from me.

However, my paranoia is abruptly interrupted when I hear my husband speak quietly in the room. I could judge that he's humming some Jay-Z song, as he always does when he wakes up and feels good about the world. But something in his tone of voice, low and measured, makes me put my ear pressed to the bathroom door. Something in my act of listening to a conversation hidden in the bathroom releases high levels of adrenaline in my bloodstream.  _ Will he betray you now, Bee? Will he ever find you listening to what he says? Will he find you trying to catch him in the lie? Do you want this to happen, Beatrice? Do you want him to catch you listening to the conversation? _

A part of me hopes so. Another part thinks it best that I keep the secret with me before blowing the bomb in front of him.

"No, I do not think she noticed”, I hear him say, “I think she would have said something if I had gone out with the car. It's okay for now. No, Becky, it's too early for that. See you on Friday? OK. OK. Alright.”

Becky. 

Becky, Becky, Becky.

I was right. My intuition was right. I don’t exactly know who Becky is, but judging by the way my husband said the name "Becky"... she's not just anyone on his phone.

I remember exactly the words my mother told me at lunch yesterday. My dad manages to be more sensitive than many people around the world, and this time he really guessed I would find out something suspicious. Jason Carter is not being truthful with me - and maybe he does not want to.

_ What are you doing, my love? What are you doing? _


	3. Hold Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you.

**November 12, 2018 ◀ ️**

 

The morning breeze in no way affects my mood confused. I walk into the Atlantic Records building with firm, fast strides, my hair caught in an obviously badly made coke because I really wasn’t ready to fix it today. 

Actually, I'm not willing to do anything today. But I’m obliged.

"Beatrice?" I hear my secretary's voice, Shawn, call out my name. "Beatrice, do not pretend I'm not talking to you!"

"Good morning to you too, king of my heart", I reply with the greatest amount of coldness embedded in a single sentence.

"Did you work on the demo that Cardi B gave you on Friday?"

"Of course not, I had better things to do."

"Liar."

"Okay, okay, I did some things. Of course, I'm not a miracle worker, but it's in my CloudDrive. You can access my account and send it to her, if you like”, I reply to him, not looking into his eyes and not waiting for his body to walk along with mine to the elevator on our right.

"The freedom you give me to work with such sensitive files is impressive." Shawn enters the metal cubicle just behind me, and I press the button for the fourth floor.

"You would never, ever dare leach such content on the internet, nor would I pay you half of the commission I'm likely to get even today, Shawn." The elevator closes in front of us, and I bang my head in the mirror. "Any news about JoJo?"

"She left the company."

"What? My God, this shit is going bankrupt soon enough."

"It's not as if she was a great source of profit for Atlantic”, he says, as I look up at the elevator shaft indicating the floors we pass by.

"JoJo has enormous potential. The record company does not know how to publicize the artists it has."

"Then why are you still working here?"

"I work for the artists, not the record companies. It's just a coincidence that all the singers I work for are part of the same company."

"I see."

Silence sets in the elevator. One thing I learned about my assistant in those three years since he started working with me is...

"Is everything alright, Beatrice?"

Shawn hates the silence.

He is the complete opposite of my daughter Ivy. She loves silence, He doesn’t.

"Yes, yes", I reply, trying to be friendly with him. "I just woke up with my left foot today."

"I always wake up with my left foot", I hear him say, and that makes me laugh just as the elevator stops on the fourth floor of the Atlantic Records building. "But is  **everything** alright?"

"Why are you asking, Shawn?"

"I don’t know. There's something in the air telling me you've changed this weekend."

A little, dear. I just discovered a possible betrayal of my husband - with a woman named Becky, whom I've never met in my life. I just found out that my family is on the tightrope. I just discovered a marital crisis.

Besides that, everything is okay.

"It must be your impression", I smile politely. "Now send the demo recording to Cardi and demand a response from her by the end of the day."

"She will fulfill that request quicker if  _ you _ do. You know that, don’t you?”

"Of course I do. But it's good to see how far Cardi can be sure not to throw a shoe in my face", I mock, and head for the largest room on the fourth floor - the studio of the great artists.

I like to go into the recording studio before everyone else. I like to take two shots of pure whiskey, toss my red coat on the couch, and smell the scent hovering in the air. All this before I feel that I am ready to compose something, or produce something that has already been delivered to me. When I want to write, I think of Jason and our daughter. I think of how much he and I struggled to get to where we came from, being a black couple raising a daughter in a metropolis full of cultural diversity - and prejudices, too. I think of how proud I am of bearing the surname Carter in my marriage certificate.

Now, I can’t think of anything else related to that. Jason's conversation on the phone with another woman, implying that he met her at dawn after our family lunch, still echoes vividly in my memory. I try to think of any and all reason for Jason to do this to me, but no conclusion is made in my tangle of thoughts. 

I did so much for him. And all he did to me was to betray my confidence.

But why her? What did she do to be better than me? Is there something about me that no longer pleases you? Is there something about me that doesn’t make you happy? Is there something about Becky that goes beyond the Beatrice Watson-Carter name? I carry his surname. What else does she carries on her back and gets my husband caught? I gave Jason everything he ever wanted - a firm marriage, a beautiful daughter, a career. A big house in a metropolis. A woman aware of herself, who knows how to make herself happy and make her man happy. I make Jason roll his eyes on the sex act. I make him scream, I make him have the greatest pleasure in bed.

Why doesn't he love me the way I love him?

 

.::.

 

"Jason?", I call him, as soon as he answers my call. "Jason?"

"Hi, Bee", he says, and I smile for a moment. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course", I try not to sound suspicious. After all, it's not uncommon for me to phone him in the middle of the afternoon - our contacts are more effective in person. "I'm the one asking ... is everything okay out there?"

"Well, I still haven’t had any big problems today. I've been looking for Ivy in high school, we're home now."

"And what is she doing?"

"She's drawing on the couch."

"What?"

"I'm joking, Bee. She is in her room, drawing on sheets appropriate for that." The way he says those words makes me laugh at how literate he can be in speech whenever he wants. "Do you want me to prepare dinner today?"

Good deeds suddenly.  _ He's cheating on you, Beatrice, notice this shit! _

"I actually feel like eating pizza today", I comment, expecting a reaction from him.

"Pizza on Monday? Honey, you're not pregnant, are you?" The urgent tone in his voice sounds strange to me. He usually says that kind of phrase in jest; but this time he doesn’t seem to be amused by my desire to eat pizza.

"Why the nervousness? Are you going to do something else today?"

Silence on the other end of the phone line.  _ I got you, Jason. _

"N-no, my dear, of course not. Let's eat pizza." His voice falters and a lot as he answers me, but that's how I can capture him in my trap.

"It's all right. See you later."

"I love you, Bee."

I dismiss the phone call before he demands a declaration of love from me.

 

**November 16, 2018 ◀ ️**

 

After working hours and hours on Cardi B's new recording, I come home at ten o'clock at night, desperate for my bed and a good night's sleep. The peace I long for, though, slides out of my hands like sand as I stumble across my mother sitting on the sofa in the living room, with a sleepy Ivy in her arms.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" I ask her, and I raise my eyebrows in doubt.

"Jason called me", Miss Alice replies, "he asked me to stay with Ivy while he went out with some friends to plan the bachelor party for one of them."

"Justin? Him, planning bachelor party?" The words escape my mouth, and when I look into my mother's eyes, I discover exactly what those words mean. "You stay with my daughter there, please. I'm going to get this story clean."

Without even changing clothes, I just go to the kitchen and like two bananas while I send messages to Jessica, Justin's fiancee, to try to find out where my husband went at this time of night. My shock doubles in size when Jessica tells me no, the men did not come out tonight - in fact, Justin is at her side right now. I'm more worried about what might be going on with Jason, and I decide to go check his Facebook account to find some clue.

I never thought I would do that. There's something I'm missing - my head, maybe? But what is worse? Looking jealous or crazy?

Much better to just be jealous. Jason married me, not Becky.

When I log into my husband's Facebook account, a notification appears on my phone's screen. The son of a bitch checked in at this nightclub called K.O., which is four districts from here. I say "son of a bitch" because he checked in to get wireless internet there, not to make it clear something like:  _ hey, I'm in a nightclub in the middle of Friday night, and my wife doesn’t know that, LOL. _

Which proves that Jason Carter manages to be a fucking idiot sometimes.

I take the keys to my car, I take leave of my mother and daughter, and I leave home willing to know what my husband has done when I am busy with my own life. Driving through the streets of the city, I think, once again, of possible reasons that led Jason to do what he has done. After all, it was he who first said the dreaded three words - "I love you." He was the one who said we were meant for each other.

So why did not this seem to be true anymore?

As soon as I park across the street, I see the K.O. nightclub with a huge queue at the entrance. I decide to stand there, watching, trying to find a familiar face that will help me understand what's going on. I find nothing, just young people eager to enjoy the night inside the establishment. With all the patience I can muster, I pay my entrance fee and put my feet into the club.

I don’t need to be an extremely competent detective to find an adulterous husband dancing in an animated way right in the middle of the dance floor. And he stands next to a woman who doesn’t stop staring at Jason - it's like she's afraid he'll leave and leave her alone. But she seizes the moment. They both enjoy the moment.

Becky.

Jason.

Becky.

I alternate the direction of my gaze to each two.

Becky.

Jason.

Becky.

She has a good hair, this Becky.

But she's not Beatrice Watson-Carter. I am.

I should be there. Not her.

Becky.

Jason.

Becky.

Jason.

And I, doped by the feeling of being betrayed, stand still near the entrance of the KO as if I had nothing better to do than face the ruins of my marriage.

I decide to go to the bathroom to try to digest the situation. I'm glad I cannot find anyone inside. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The reflection of a woman who thought she was the owner of her own life, and now she doesn’t know what love is anymore. The reflection of a woman who thought she had everything stable. She thought.

I thought.

I look in the mirror and say,  _ "Hey, Bee? What's up? What will you do?" _


	4. Don't Hurt Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a bigger smile on my face being alone.

**November 16, 2018 ◀ ️**

 

I don’t remember exactly what happened in the minutes between the time I stared in the mirror of the nightclub until the moment I was already at home, putting Ivy in her bed, giving her a good night kiss. It's as if I had doped my body with something that would make me, if only for a minute, forget what I had seen on the dance floor. There was no word to describe my feeling at the time.

But as I leave my daughter's room, walking slowly to my room and sitting on the bed, my body seems to wake up. My mind seems to wake up.  _ Bee, you saw what you saw. Jason Carter isn’t loyal to you. At least not anymore. What are you going to do, Beatrice? What will you do? _

I remember I let my mother sleep in the guest room, but now I'm almost sorry for that decision. I cannot scream at all without Miss Alice listening and rushing to try to understand what happened. And a moment of anger is all that I need most now.

Fuck that shit. I'm pissed off. And I have to act like I really want to act.

I open the closet in the double room, very well divided for me and Jason. My clothes are always organized by color spectrum. Jason's clothes are only divided between those that are suits and those that are not suits, and shoes thrown anyway in the drawers. He knows how much I hate his lack of organization, and that's why I asked him to build this closet in here. He never respected that idea. I heard him say several times that it was bullshit, something for super rich people, who have problems of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

I look at my husband's clothes now, and I have no other desire than to throw them all to the ground. What clothes did he use to meet Becky with the good hair? What shoes did he throw up so he could get involved with her? Which panties were thrown in the same way before the consummation of the act? What perfume did he use to see her somewhere that was not our home? What clock did he use to display his ostentation - which is actually my ostentation - to her? 

I gave it all to him. And all he did was enjoy all this with another woman.

Without worrying about the organization, I pull all of Jason's jackets to the floor. I withdraw the hangers - I'm sure to keep them - from each piece of clothing, and then I pick up the clothes in small piles and take them out of the room. I decide to have the pleasure of throwing every pair of pants, every shirt, every suit, every tie, every collar, every clothing, from the top of the ladder. Little by little, all the memories that I created with him dressed in these clothes are thrown on the floor of the living room. Little by little, his scent begins to leave the room directly to the floor of the living room. Little by little, I put my anger over the aggressive attitude of removing every little piece of Jason Carter from the private space that must now be mine, and only mine.

After all, I will not leave the house I bought, with my money, for a traitor.

"Bee? What do you think you're doing?"

Ha, ha. My husband's fateful voice echoes loudly throughout the house.

"What I should have done a long time ago", I reply, without descending the steps. "Although I don’t exactly know how long this has been going on. So why don't you tell me yourself, Jason? How long?"

"How long what? I told your mother, I went out with some friends to..."

"I saw, Jason Carter! I saw it!" I scream with all the air I can get into my lungs, and then Ivy starts crying from her bedroom.

"Beatrice? What's going on?" I hear my mother's quiet voice in the upstairs hallway, which is where I am.

"Mother, can you stay in Ivy's room for now? I think she woke up, but I have a pending thing to settle here."

"Honey?"

"Mom, please. I'll tell you later."

"Your daughter is crazy, Alice", he shouts back, still staring deep into my eyes.

My mother, however, does not listen to him, preferring to comfort the tears of her granddaughter. I go back to the closet, I get the last pair of shoes left to be thrown on the floor of the living room, and so I do.

"Jason, I called Jessica. I saw your post on the internet. I went after you, exactly where you were. I saw. I know what I saw in the middle of the dance floor. And I am the crazy one in this room? Tell me, what’s worse? Looking jealous or crazy?"

That's when he's silent. His mouth moves several times, as if to say something to alleviate the situation, but no word comes out of his lips. 

"Who the fuck do you think I am? Who do you think I am to betray me to another woman than ever, will it ever be me? Jason, do you see the fucking wedding ring here on my finger?" I point at my ring finger. "Look here, Jason! Look! You’re not married to no average bitch,, you married me!"

"Bee ..."

"Don’t fucking call me Bee!" I scream even louder, and yet another cry of Ivy is easily heard throughout the house. "You're going to get these clothes and you're going to leave this house. Now. Not a minute more, not a minute less. I could give a fucking speech to, I don’t know, try to make you see the gravity of the situation, but it would still be little... or rather, it would be nothing. You don’t deserve a fucking post-betrayal speech."

"It was a moment of weakness, my dear."

"Ah! A moment of weakness? My God, I'm not even going to bother answering your phrase, which is, above all, rude. Holy shit. You're not even good enough to be original, Jason." I roll my eyes, and finally I decide to go downstairs to where my husband is. 

I go down each step as slowly as possible, while my head struggles against itself, throwing arguments so that I go to meet them and so that I do not lower myself to their level. 

_ Give all due respect, Beatrice, he’s still your husband and the father of your daughter.  _

_ Ah, but he deserves no mercy at all. Just send him away and never come back. _

The mind can be your worst enemy at such times.

"How long has it been, Jason?"

He takes a deep breath before releasing all the air at once.

"Two years."

I slowly throw my head back, and start laughing at myself. I laugh at my idiot face I should be doing right now. Two years! My God. Two years. How muggle I've been for all those two years. It seems like an unbelievable idea - Jason Carter cheating on me, and for all this time. 

But no. The idea is right in front of me. And I just didn’t want to see the truth.

"Who is she?" And I know I'm not obliged to ask that question, but my heart says it's necessary to know. To know for whom I lost this battle.

"She got stuck in a lift with me once. Rebecca. "

"Becky", I say at once. "You don’t have to call her by the formal name, dear. I know the nickname. I heard."

"The phone."

"Very well. The phone", I smirk sarcastically. "That phone I helped buy, remember? All those clothes... I helped buy them, remember? The shoes. The ties. The suits. The food you eat here every day without making a single complaint. I helped buy it, remember?" He says nothing. I don’t know what I'll do if he opens his mouth to try to answer me. "I gave you pleasure in bed for a long time. I gave you a daughter. Suddenly, I stopped being enough for you, Jason? No, no. I was enough. I went too far. I'm too much for you, Jason Carter, I look in the mirror and think just that. Wow, Beatrice, you're the boss of the house. You don’t deserve someone to hurt your heart. "

"Beatrice..."

"You're going to get your things... and get out of here. Now. I won’t say it again. In fact, I've said too much for today." My gaze to him is so incisive, so deadly, that Jason would probably be dead right now if my eyes killed people.

"But what about..."

"Damn it, Jason, don’t you fucking try to win this war! What part of 'get out of my house' you cannot understand? Why do you still insist on discussing what I saw myself? It happened, dear, and now you can not go back." I scream again, and I decide to go back to the room that is now just mine, slamming the door hard afterwards.

If he wanted to hurt me, he did it. But surely I gave the change.

"Beatrice?" I hear my mother knock on the door of the room without strength, but in agony. "Open that door, my daughter."

"It's not safe."

"I still know how to slam doors, do not even think about locking it", Alice says, and I let myself laugh a little through the anger building inside me.

There is no will to cry in my heart. There are no tears to cry. Just the rage of feeling the betrayal running through the veins.

"Come in."

My mother answers my request. Ivy is at her side, with a teddy bear snuggled in her arms and a look of who has just cried, literally. When I look at my daughter's distressed face, all the tears want to come out of my eyes at the same time. It's clear in Ivy Carter how much she looks more like her father than me. Her eyebrows were high, her dimples were on her cheeks, her hair genuinely Afro, without having undergone any chemical treatment of salons to appear "more normal." 

"Mama", Ivy whispers as she gets closer to where I am, "why did you fight with daddy?"

She heard.  _ She's not stupid, Bee, of course she heard and understood what was happening.  _ Maybe not everything, but the essential information - the information I fought with Jason - she managed to capture in her mind. 

"Daddy did things that did not make you mama proud of him", I say, using the most delicate words I can find in my vocabulary collection. "And he had to leave the house to learn a lesson."

"What lesson, Mom?"

"The lesson? Well..." I hug Ivy, and put my chin over her head. "When you hurt someone's feelings, you hurt yourself, too. So do not hurt yourself. Never."


End file.
